


Banquet

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Hales' Finishing School for Traditional Omegas [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Allison Argent, Alpha Lydia Martin, Alpha Matt Daehler, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Background Relationships, Barebacking, Collars, Creepy Matt Daehler, F/M, First Time, Grooming, Hand Feeding, Knotting, Leashes, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Isaac Lahey, Omega Kira Yukimura, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Oral Sex, Public Display of Affection, Seduction, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, pseudo-heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: Her head snaps up, eyes wide and fixed on his face. “What?”He holds her gaze. “I’d be honoured if you’d attend the banquet with me, as my guest and playmate for the evening.”
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Hales' Finishing School for Traditional Omegas [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521086
Comments: 131
Kudos: 394





	1. Famine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts), [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/gifts).



> This work is gifted to Bunny and Winter for enabling it like mad, and this installment is brought to you by my fraying sanity. I'd hoped to have this done a week ago, as a second Kinktober update, but this got long on me so you're getting it in halves instead. 
> 
> Hope you all have a good weekend!

Stiles stares at the cobalt-blue sash lying on her bed, all-but paralyzed with anxiety. The single most innocuous piece of her school uniform, and it’s about to make her break out in hives.

Usually, she loves the sash—it’s pretty, and she can tie it in about a hundred different ways to alter the semi-sheer drape of her uniform to make it look like a different dress every day. It’s the most individual she’s been allowed to dress since she got here, and usually, she loves it. Usually.

Not today, though.

Because today, she’s figuring out how she’s going to attend the banquet she really and truly does not want to be going to. But she knows that she has to go—not only did she promise Master Peter, who will, undoubtedly, come looking for her if she doesn’t show her face voluntarily—but she has to go and participate at least once if she’s going to graduate and get the hell out of this place. And that means tying the sash in a bow at her waist to indicate her . . . preference. Front and back for, well. The obvious. The side for “either” or “undecided”.

And that, well. There’s no easy answer, there. Because for all that Master Peter has always made her feel good during one-on-one training sessions, there was tincture involved, and that made it different. Humiliating, to lose control and crave nothing—not even air—more than touch and the release of orgasm, but at least there was some distance to those sessions. Gloves, toys, plugs, the machine. Tincture. She won’t have that, this time, will have to play-mate, be play-mated by someone for the first time when she’s never so much as _wanted_ to before.

(Stiles has a libido, of course, like all healthy omegas do, but she’s never play-mated, not even for “practise” with the other omegas in the dorm, and she knows they think she’s weird for that, repressed, hung-up, maybe even stupid, but she doesn’t care.)

In the end, her hands shake as she ties a bow in the front, because she thinks it might be easier, that way—no matter how her training sessions have gone, she knows better than to think she can handle a knot in her ass. Better to use the body part equipped to handle that than risk injury, and she never thought she’d be glad that _Hales’_ supplies all their students with birth control and suppressants to prevent any accidental matings or pregnancy, but she is. It means that, even if the alpha she ends up with tonight doesn’t use the condom right, she doesn’t have to worry about long-term consequences or needing to squirm out of a shotgun wedding.

She heads downstairs to the banquet hall, and she must look as ghastly as she feels, because she’s no sooner set foot in the large, crowded hall than Master Peter appears in front of her. She startles, taking a step back, heart in her throat and halfway to running back to her dorm when he slides a gentle hand round to the small of her back. “Easy, princess,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.”

He guides her over to a table on the left with a tiered carousel of finger foods in the centre and a few students already sitting there. Stiles lets him settle her into her seat, and waits for him to walk away before she looks up—and is instantly relieved to see that she’s sitting next to Kira, who reaches out and takes her hand. Stiles grips back, grateful for the lifeline.

Kira—without ever letting go—points out which of the finger foods Stiles should try (cucumber sandwiches, mini quiche, the thin slices of cheese and meat paired with crackers), and which to avoid (egg salad, the dodgy-looking jelly). It’s a bit of normalcy, and Stiles appreciates it more than she can say. Which might be why she lets Kira pop a bit of cheese into her mouth, and hums appreciatively at the creamy consistency and mellow flavour.

She’s not expecting to see heat sparking in Kira’s eyes at the gesture.

Before it can get awkward—before Stiles has to say or do something about that sudden revelation—Master Peter taps a butter knife against his water glass to call for their attention. Once he has it, he gives a brief, tight smile. “Alright, my doves, you know how this goes. Students from _The Blackwood Academy for Mannered Alphas_ will be arriving momentarily, chaperoned by their Headmaster Deucalion Blackwood, and at least one teacher.” He gestures towards their tables, and a long buffet along one side of the room. “Get to know each other, and make sure any boundaries are expressed before you engage. Condoms are stocked in each of the alcoves,” he waves an arm at the wall opposite the buffet table, where at least half-a-dozen chambers hold beds, “and along the buffet table.”

Master Peter’s gaze sweeps the room, pausing here and there on certain students, and Stiles feels warm when he locks eyes with her. “I would like to remind you all that while play-mating is the ultimate goal of these events, none of you are required to engage if you do not so wish. If another student tries to pressure you otherwise, alert one of the other students or staff, and we will separate you from them. If you run into trouble of any kind,” he pauses to give significant glances to a few students, who laugh good-naturedly, “alert the staff, and we will provide aid. I promise you, there is nothing we haven’t seen at this point, so please don’t try to hide an injury or problem out of embarrassment.”

There was, again, some more scattered laughs, and Stiles wondered at the stories there.

“On a final note: please, please, for the sake of my sanity, eat something and stay hydrated.” Master Peter raised his glass in a toast, and then sipped at his water before retaking his seat.

Stiles has questions. So very many questions. She turns to murmur them into Kira’s ear, but the door to the hall opens, letting a draught—and the alpha students—in, and suddenly, Stiles can’t care about what amusing stories everyone here already knows, because she feels dozens of eyes on her, sizing her up, curious and hungry. It makes her want to run.

The petite redheaded alpha making a beeline in her direction only makes the urge worse, but when she arrives, it turns out it’s _Kira_ her attention is focussed on. Stiles’s hand slips from the other omega’s grasp as she leaps from her seat and into the redheaded alpha’s arms. The alpha, for her part, gives a small, tinkling laugh, and spins Kira ‘round before setting her gently back on her feet.

Kira’s smile is sunshine bright as she says, “Hey, Lydia. It’s good to see you again.”

The alpha—Lydia—gives a pleased hum, bussing a kiss over Kira’s cheek. “And you.” There’s a pause, and then, “Who’s your friend, darling?”

Stiles’s cheeks heat as both of them turn to face her, the alpha looking at her with naked appraisal, and the heat from earlier returning to Kira’s face. “This is Stiles. She started a few months after me, and we’ve shared a dorm the last few years.”

One of Lydia’s eyebrows quirks up. “Have you now? That’s interesting. I’m not sure how we haven’t met before.”

Stiles refuses to lower her eyes, or cough, or fidget, or otherwise act ashamed or cagey about the fact that this is her first banquet despite having been at _Hales’_ for almost three years. She shrugs. “It’s my first time at one of these, so.” She doesn’t explain the rest. She doesn’t need to.

Lydia makes a thoughtful noise. “A word of advice,” she murmurs, continuing when Stiles nods hesitantly. “If you’re feeling . . . skittish, about your first encounter, you might want to try one of the Madames or Mistresses rather than the Masters.”

Stiles’s eyebrows shoot up her face in shock, and Lydia chuckles.

“They mean well, of course, but,” she shrugs one shoulder. “The feminine alphas are more likely to be gentle, go slow.”

It sounds like a line. It really, really does, and Stiles is reminded, yet again, of elementary and high school, where she always had to watch out for the barbs and traps hidden under the alphas’ seemingly-pretty words. “I wonder why that might be.”

Lydia’s head is still tilted in her direction, even though she’s looking at Kira. “If I had to guess, I’d suggest we have different dispositions. It takes a certain amount of patience to care for and style long hair, or learn how to do makeup. The masculine set, well.”

Stiles can understand the line of thinking, but something about it still sets off her bullshit detector. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says lightly, standing up. The buffet table is looking really good right about now.

Kira flashes her a smile, even as her fingers play with the shimmering hair at Lydia’s nape. “You’d be welcome to join us later, if you like.”

Stiles nods and murmurs a thank you before retreating. She won’t take them up on it, but in a way, Kira’s straightforward offer is easier to understand than Lydia’s whatever-it-was. So, the buffet table: refuge of the socially awkward.

Only her run of wonky luck continues, because she’s approached by a dark-haired alpha boy on her way over. “Hey there. Are you a transfer student? I haven’t seen you at one of these before.”

It’s said with a smile, but something about it—about him—is pinging alarm bells, so Stiles doesn’t stop walking towards the food. “Nope, not new,” she replies, but doesn’t elaborate.

Unfortunately, dude doesn’t seem to take the hint, keeping pace with her. “Huh, that’s weird. What kept you from away, then?”

It feels invasive and _off_ , and Stiles takes a deep breath and uncurls her fingers so she doesn’t deck him. “None of your business,” she says as coldly as she knows how.

The alpha boy rears back, but doesn’t leave her alone. “Whoa, no need to get bitey! I’m just trying to be friendly, get to know you. I’m Matt.”

She decides it’s time to get direct, so she stops walking, and turns to face him head-on. “I’m not interested.” She’s as firm as she can be without getting angry or yelling.

Matt’s face goes tight for a moment before it smooths back out. He steps toward her, his hand sliding along her arm. “Awh, don’t be like that, little o,” he murmurs, and Stiles, well.

She’s had enough. “Let go of me,” she hisses, trying to pull her arm away.

Instead of releasing her, his fingers clench around her arm, and rage burns hot in her guts before exploding outward. She twists out of his grip and steps in close to punch him in the throat. She slams her knee into his groin for good measure, but before she can get him on the floor and really do some damage, strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her back. She snarls, gearing up to fight some more, but pauses when she hears, “What happened here?” in Master’s Peter’s most authoritative tone.

She takes a deep breath and stares murder at Matt—who’s been joined by a tall, well-dressed alpha teacher from the other school—as she rests her weight against Master Peter’s chest. “I only say ‘no’ politely the first time.”

Master Peter hums, the sound soothing where it moves through his body and into hers, and the other alpha teacher’s lips go thin. “I see.”

She expects to get some kind of lecture, but instead, he nods. “I apologize for my student, Miss. I’ll see that he’s taken back to the Academy immediately.” His attention turns then to Master Peter. “Peter, I’ll be in touch with you about disciplinary action.”

“I’ll hear from you soon, then. Goodnight, Duke.”

“Goodnight.”

And then Matt’s being hauled away by his Headmaster, and she’s being guided out of the banquet hall by hers. They end up in Master Peter’s office, and it’s only once they get there that he lets go of her completely.

“What happened?”

Stiles looks at him incredulously. “I told you, bastard didn’t want to take ‘no’ for an answer—what, you want a blow-by-blow?”

Master Peter gives her a thousand-yard stare. “I would, yes, but first, I want to know what prompted that reaction from you. You’ve never gotten violent with students or staff before, and I need to know now if this is a problem we need to get in front of.”

She grits her teeth. “It won’t happen again.”

He huffs, exasperated. “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, and before tonight, I would have laid money that you’d never attack a fellow student, so answer the question.”

Stiles laughs, and even she can tell it doesn’t sound quite right. “You know my father is the Sheriff, right?”

Master Peter nods. “Yes, I’m aware.”

She bares her teeth in something that could never be mistaken for a smile. “Do you really think that the Sheriff’s omega daughter would be left without the means to defend herself? You think I haven’t had to push off alphas who didn’t want to take ‘no’ for an answer?”

There’s a long moment, so heavy it’s hard to breathe, where Master Peter stares at her with concern furrowing his brow. “I understand that this is a delicate question, but given what you’ve just said, and the force of your reaction tonight, I have to ask. Have you been taken against your will?”

Stiles’s jaw clenches, because training sessions here at _Hales’_ certainly feel that way, but she knows that’s not what he’s asking. “No,” she finally spits. “Though not for lack of trying.”

Something in him releases at that. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Have you ever been,” he pauses, head tilting at he looks her up and down, “ _intimate_ , of your own choosing, with a partner?”

She glares hard enough to set him on fire. “No.”

“I see.” His expression softens, and he takes a step closer with his arms held carefully out by his sides. “But I still don’t understand why you reacted that way back there.”

She wraps her arms around herself. “I was just—I was so _angry_. I told him no, and tried to walk away, but. He followed, and then he touched me anyway, and wouldn’t let go, and there wasn’t any _time_ to get someone else, and I just reacted—”

“You didn’t feel safe,” he murmurs, cutting her off.

Stiles pauses, unsure how to answer that, or if she should at all, but unfortunately, he’s right. He nods, reading something in her face, and Stiles looks at the floor. _I don’t know any of them, and have no reason to trust strange alphas_ , she doesn’t say. “They were looking at me like fresh meat,” she mumbles eventually, when the silence has dragged on long enough that it’s clear Master Peter expects her to answer somehow.

He doesn’t say anything, and Stiles isn’t sure what to make of that. Eventually, she asks, “Am I in trouble?”

Master Peter sighs. “You should be, but I can’t say this surprises me, and I should have been watching more closely. You were on-edge from the moment you set foot in the banquet hall, and the student who pushed your boundaries has a bad habit of doing that. When I speak to Deucalion, I’m going to let him know that young Master Daehler’s privileges have been revoked, but I’m not sure what, exactly, to do with you.”

Stiles holds her breath as his gaze locks on hers. “The problem is,” he says slowly, “that he was wrong to do what he did, and that you were wrong to react as you did. Given that this was the first time anything like this has happened, I can give you an official warning, and leave it there. But I suspect this won’t be as simple as you promising to keep a lid on your temper.”

Stiles bites her lip, because, well. She’s managed thus far, at _Hales’_ , but the only alphas she has to watch out for here at the school are the Hale alphas it was named for. It’s a different story when she’s in a room full of strange alphas staring at her like a pack of feral wolves. “So, what now?”

Master Peter takes a deep breath, and sits behind his desk, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Now, we make some arrangements to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

She sits, because this is a plan of his she can actually get behind.

***

At the next banquet, Peter pulls her aside after he addresses his students, before _Blackwood’s_ alphas arrive. He leads her down a short hallway behind the teacher’s table, and into a room that looks similar to the alcoves, but that’s all she has time to notice before she blinks rapidly at the sight of the other omega already there. “Isaac?”

He gives a little smile and wave. “Hey, Stiles.”

She turns to look at Master Peter. “I don’t—”

He runs a hand down her back. “Isaac will explain, I have to get back to the banquet to supervise. I’ll come check on you later.”

And then the dick does, in fact, walk away, and Stiles looks back at Isaac with a flaily “ _what the hell?_ ” gesture.

Isaac, for his part, smirks, and takes a seat on the low, wide bed, leaning back on his arms. It’s a blatant invitation, and Stiles is immediately wary, because she doesn’t know what it’s an invitation _for_. She doesn’t move, either closer to him, or right back down the hall she came from. “What the fuck, Isaac?”

At that, his expression clears, and he sits up straighter. “I thought maybe the Headmaster was joking, but he really wasn’t. You’re, uh. You’re really having problems with the whole banquet thing, aren’t you?”

Stiles glares at him so she doesn’t scream or turn around and march right back to her dorm. “You mean, a bunch of total strangers staring at me like I’m fresh meat and they have a dinner ticket? Sounds like a great time,” she deadpans.

Isaac, to his credit, winces. “Yeah, it’s—it can be hard, for sure. It’s why the Headmaster set this up.”

“And this is?”

Isaac nibbles his bottom lip for a moment before answering. “Basically? I’m sharing my alpha with you.”

Stiles thinks her eyes are going to bug out of her head. “ _What_?”

He takes a deep breath, shoulders pulling inward a little bit, and she realizes, a bit belatedly, that he’s nowhere near as confident about this as he seems. “Allison’s really great, and Headmaster Hale figured that you’d probably—I dunno, find it easier? If you were part of a pair, than trying to find someone who was single.”

Stiles stands there blinking for a long moment as she processes that. The truth is, she can see the logic in that line of thinking, even if it is, objectively, absolutely bonkers. “Okay,” she says slowly. “So, um, thank you for sharing?”

He gives her a look, and they both snicker, because well. The situation is a bit ridiculous.

But she figures, why not? It’s worth a try, if only because there’s privacy here, and she knows Isaac, and he’s vouching for the alpha in question. It can’t go worse than her first banquet did.

***

It doesn’t go badly, but it doesn’t go well, either. Allison is perfectly lovely, and she and Isaac do everything they can to put her at-ease, but she doesn’t feel anything when Allie kisses her, when Isaac’s hands span her waist gently, when she watches them play-mate with a gentleness she can’t help but find beautiful. They don’t take it personally, but Stiles can see the hidden disappointment in their faces.

She feels more disappointed in herself, because these two were probably as close to perfect a chance as she was ever going to get to have a not-awful play-mating and get the hell out of _Hales_.’

***

The less said about her third banquet, the better. She leaves early, showers, and crawls into bed feeling cold and hollow, because she’s not just different from the other students, but backwards from everything an omega is “supposed” to be. She doesn’t revel in alpha attention, isn’t the walking embodiment of sensuality and grace, and when the alpha boy touched her tonight, her skin didn’t light up with pleasure, it _crawled_. The fact that he was a decent sort of guy, who noticed and backed off, is a cold comfort.

She’s never going to be able to get out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, gorgeous, hit me with that sweet sweet serotonin by leaving a comment


	2. Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, lovelies! I hope you enjoy the second half of this trash-fest, and that you all have a good weekend!

An hour before the final banquet of the year, Master Peter finds her in her room. She stares at him for a long moment, her brain trying to catch up with the fact that he’s _here_ , leaning against the doorframe of her dorm room, when the staff mostly avoids the dorms for a lot of reasons, mostly down to privacy and propriety. One side of his mouth curls up as she stares. “You’re here,” she says stupidly, and immediately wants to facepalm.

“I am,” he replies easily, pushing off the frame and stepping closer to her. “I have a proposition for you.”

And, well, given that he’s been trying to help her have a successful play-mating, she’s suddenly a lot less flabbergasted about him being here. “Shoot.” She’s curious about what other option he might have up his sleeve. She would’ve thought they’d reached the end of alternatives by now, especially after vetoing the Kira-and-Lydia option.

He pulls one hand out of his pocket, palm facing outward to show a slender cobalt ribbon wrapped around his middle finger and flowing down his palm. It’s short, and there’s metal at the ends, but before she can get a closer look, he says, “I’d like to take you to this banquet as my guest,” and everything just sort of _stops_.

Her head snaps up, eyes wide and fixed on his face. “What?”

He holds her gaze. “I’d be honoured if you’d attend the banquet with me, as my guest and playmate for the evening.”

Stiles swallows, her skin breaking out in goosebumps and a shiver going down her spine. “What would that mean?” she rasps out, because she has to know what she’s getting into, especially with him. She’s wound up in over her head too many times because of this alpha.

Master Peter swivels the hand he still has up, the metal bits swaying, and she can see now that they’re small hoops. “I would clip this collar around your neck, and everyone would know you were off-limits. Untouchable. You’d stay near me, and,” his eyes darken as they drift from her face down to the open collar of the robe she put on after showering, “you would allow me to take care of you.”

Her bones feel like they’re vibrating with the sheer _want_ that’s pouring off him, and she doesn’t know what to think, because he’s never looked at her like that before. She decides to focus on the practicalities, for now. “Take care of me how?”

He steps closer, close enough that she can hear him breathe, and the tip of his tongue darts over his lips. “If I had my way,” he husks, “I’d treat you the way I would an omega I was courting, starting right now.” His fingertips rest on her exposed collarbone, and given all the places he’s touched her it _shouldn’t_ feel electrifying, but it _does_ , in no small part because there’s no glove, just the heat of his skin against hers. “I’d arrange your hair, and drape your gown,” his fingertips slide slowly down the valley between her breasts, coaxing her robe open, “before taking you downstairs and feeding you.”

She knows, as he says it, that he doesn’t mean he’ll fetch her things to try, or eat with her. She knows the banquet serves delicate finger foods because they’re easier for alphas to handfeed to their partners.

“And _then_ ,” he continues, hand dropping to her waist as he closes the gap between them to whisper into her ear, “later, when you were ready, I’d take you to a private room, and pleasure you.”

Stiles’s skin feels hot, and maybe it’s insane, but something about the way he says “pleasure you” instead of “knot you” makes her breath stutter and catch as she whispers, “Yes.”

Master Peter’s other hand tips her chin up gently. “Yes?”

She swallows, but nods. Better the devil you know, right?

She doesn’t expect him to lean in suddenly and brush a feather-light kiss across the top of her cheekbone. He murmurs, “Thank you, princess,” and she feels warm.

Things feel almost hazy, dreamlike, as he slides the Hale-blue silk around her throat, fastening the metal loops with a tiny clip attached to a delicate length of chain that loops around his wrist at the opposite end. She thinks she should resent it, the implication that she’s a pet on a leash, but the silk feels like water against the back of her neck, and the chain is too fine to truly hold her. One sharp pull, and it would break into tiny, glittering pieces.

More than that, she finds that there’s a part of her that likes the chain encircling Master Peter’s wrist—because, really, he’s just as tethered to her as she is to him.

She holds that thought in her mind as he unbelts her robe and carefully drags it down her arms. She’s bare underneath, and there’s something about it that makes her heart pound, for all that he’s seen all of her many times before this. She’s not sure what it is she feels, everything a little distant and soft-edged, but she knows it’s not fear.

His hands are steady as he drapes her gown, smoothing down the fabric over her breasts before tying her sash. He directs her to sit on her bed, and her eyes slip closed as deft fingertips move through her hair, parting and stroking it as he does something to it that Stiles can’t actually care about, because she’s too busy enjoying the ripples of sensation spreading through her scalp.

When she opens her eyes, she sees that he’s braided it back in an elaborate style, the braids crisscrossing each other at the sides of her head before joining to form a single woven tail down her back.

“Ready to go, princess?”

She nods, still captivated by what she’s seeing in the mirror, and the soft, surrealistic haze that has her thinking that maybe, just maybe, things will go right this time.

***

Stepping into the banquet hall, her left hand in his chain-linked left and his right hand at her waist, Stiles realizes she didn’t think this through. She clenches her jaw and holds her head high, ignoring the stares and whispers of her fellow students, thinking she was stupid not grasp that agreeing to Master Peter’s proposition would turn her into more of a spectacle than she usually is at these accursed things. Still, it can’t really be helped, she knows that, so she’s determined to ride it out with silent composure and as much superiority as she can fake.

Unfortunately, her resolve cracks when she sees that there’s no seat for her at the teacher’s table, and she gives her “date” a pointed, thoroughly annoyed look. His response is to chuckle. “You can either kneel by my side, or sit in my lap, princess. Your choice.”

Stiles takes a moment to take a deep breath, and lets her face communicate just how much she does not like these options. Master Peter winds the chain around his hand, pulling it taught and giving it a tiny tug, as if she needs the reminder of the fact that they’re tethered for the night.

Still, it drives home his point: sitting separately would be impractical, even if she’d prefer it. She chooses dignity over distance and drops herself into his lap as heavily as she dares.

Master Peter simply bends his neck to nuzzle against the side of her throat. “Don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he whispers. “It’s a rare honour for an omega to appear formally claimed in public, you can’t blame them for admiring the view.”

It’s pretty flattery, and Stiles snorts. “That’s not why they’re staring, and you know it.”

He hums against her shoulder, and the buzzy feeling is distracting. “And why do you think they’re staring, then?”

“I’m sure half of it is curiosity at seeing the school prude leashed and collared by the Headmaster, and half of it is that they’re hoping to watch you teach me the error of my ways,” she replies flatly, glaring at a few of the historically-nastier starers.

“You truly think that the entire student body thinks so little of you?”

She turns away from the hall, and twisting her neck towards him. “With all due respect, Master Hale, you don’t live in the dorms with them, and don’t hear or see what they say and do after-hours.”

His brow furrows at that, and the arm he has wrapped around her waist tightens. “Call me Peter.”

Stiles stares for a moment, eyes wide and blinking rapidly.

Master Peter, of course, huffs. “I’m going to be taking you to bed,” he mutters against her collarbone. “For tonight, I think we can forgo the honorifics.”

“Uh, okay. Alright, that’s—I can do that.” She doesn’t know why it makes her guts feel squirmy and warm, but it does.

“And, honestly, I think you’re being a little unkind to your fellow students. They’re not like you, true, but that doesn’t mean they hold you in contempt.”

She doesn’t say anything, because if she does, she’ll refute that, and she doesn’t want that kind of tension creeping in. Not when she’s halfway to comfortable at a banquet for the first time, knowing she’s safe from the greedy eyes and hungry hands of the alpha students who’ll arrive shortly.

But Peter doesn’t need her to, to pick up on her disbelief. His tethered hand comes up to cradle her jaw. “Did you ever stop and consider that they were, perhaps, jealous of you?”

It throws her for a loop, but before she can think of how to respond, he’s turning past her to the students of _Hales’_ to give his usual address. She’s heard it three times already, so she mostly tunes it out, because it’s always the same message, even if the words or jokes change. She doesn’t need to pay attention.

And then she hears her name.

“—Miss Stilinski is my guest tonight; I trust that you’ll be respectful, not just towards us, but towards my nephew, Derek, who’s taking my place as chaperone for the evening, since my attention won’t be focussed on the student body.”

Stiles bites her lip so she doesn’t joke about the student body he _will_ be focussing on, and is close enough to see the way the corner of his mouth twitches. His hand drops to her thigh, strong fingers curving round the side until his fingertips are teasing at the sensitive back, and Stiles bites down on the inside of her lip so she doesn’t groan or whimper or make any other embarrassing sounds. He squeezes, because he’s a dirty bastard who doesn’t play fair. Which is fine, because Stiles can control herself, stay composed in front of all the students watching her.

Only, that goes out the window once the students from _Blackwood’s_ arrive, because apparently lap-sitting and thigh-squeezing are Master Peter being _reserved_ —as soon as the young alphas arrive to distract the omega students, it suddenly feels like he’s all over her, fingertips tracing tantalizingly delicate patterns over the sensitive skin of her thighs, broad palm cupping the side of her throat as he nips and mouths at the other side, skating teasing touches across the tops of her breasts, her lower back. She shifts, feeling the telltale tickle that means she’s getting wet between the thighs, and somehow, she ends up squirming over the firm bulge of what is unmistakably Ma— _Peter’s_ semi-erect cock.

It stops her cold.

Before she has a chance to either overthink or panic, he’s dropping kisses along her collarbone. “There’s no rush, princess,” he murmurs, and Stiles wants to hate that she’s reassured by that, but she can’t be.

“Okay,” she breathes, hoping the softness of her voice will mask the way it shakes.

“It just means you’re not the only one affected.” His lips travel up the side of her neck from her collarbone until his lips are brushing the skin of her cheek. “This is the power you wield, little o—to catch and keep our attention, bring us to our knees.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she stays quiet. She’s never felt like being an omega was a powerful thing, never felt like the attention alphas paid her was anything but being hunted down by hungry animals who didn’t want to take ‘no’ for an answer. But here and now, in this moment, she can almost believe him when he says it, because he’s not behaving like any of the alphas she’s known, and he’s not pushing. His cock is right there, hard under her thigh, and he’s not making a move to do anything about it, or even draw attention to it. The lack of pressure makes her bold, and she drops a hand to run her fingertips over the cloth-covered bulge.

Peter’s breath catches, and he touches the back of her hand. “None of that just yet, please.” She looks up at him, confused, and he drops a kiss on her cheek. “You need to eat something first, princess. I meant it, when I said there’s no rush. We have all night.”

Stiles feels a little shiver go down her spine, because now, that doesn’t sound like reassurance so much as a filthy promise draped in tenderness, and she doesn’t know if that frightens or excites her.

***

Stiles doesn’t know how long, exactly, she’s been here, squirming discreetly on M— _Peter’s_ lap as he touches her and drops soft, chaste kisses along her skin, feeding her pieces of fruit and small sandwiches as he looks at her with heat in his eyes. What she does know is that she can’t take any more of it—her entire body feels like it’s thrumming and alive, twisting into-away-from his hands, and she’s a damp, sticky mess between her thighs, needy in a way that borders on aching. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, if this is a good or bad idea, but she can’t sit here and take any more, so she drapes her arms around his neck and ducks her head to murmur into his ear. “Please, sir? Need you.”

One of his arms wraps around her waist as the other goes under her knees. “I was just waiting on you, princess,” he replies, standing smoothly from their chair cradling her in his arms. He doesn’t put her down until after he’s walked them out of the banquet and into a private room, but she can’t say she minds—on the contrary, something shivery and pleased curls in her stomach at being carried, her face shielded from view, tucked in against his throat.

When he sets her on her feet, she doesn’t know what to expect, but the kiss isn’t it. Because he frames her face between his hands, cupping her like she’s precious as his lips move chastely over hers. There’s something sweet and easy about it, and she’s responding before she decides whether she wants to. She moans, shocked, somehow, when the tip of his tongue traces the curve of her top lip.

He moves away then, eyes alight with hunger as his hands drop to her waist. “On the bed for me, princess,” he rasps. “On your back.”

It feels—fast, sudden, even though it’s not, but it _is_ what she came to the banquet for, what she agreed to, so she obeys, even though she’s not sure if she wants to. He moves in close, big hands sliding up her thighs to part them, carefully moving her dress out of the way, but instead of diving in with fingers or cock like she expects, he sinks to his knees and starts lapping at the slick smeared across her inner thighs.

Stiles whimpers, and M—Peter makes a hungry, rumbling noise. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this, give you this,” he husks.

And that’s just—wait, what?—but there’s no waiting, his tongue is sliding broad and soft and hot up her folds before he parts them with his thumbs, and then he’s mouthing wetly across her clit, the tip of his tongue playing with the barbell and making electric bolts of pleasure race each other up her spine. It’s hot and wet and lush, and she can’t help but rock against his face, hypersensitive and desperate to come.

It gets her a pleased moan, so she doesn’t stop or wonder if she ought to be embarrassed—just keeps moving with him as he suckles and flicks at her clit piercing until she’s coming, soaking his chin with a warbling cry. It’s good, it’s _so_ good, but somehow, it’s not enough—she’s tingling and aching, unsatisfied. There’s something that’s not-quite-right and she doesn’t know what it is.

“Alright, princess?”

She opens her eyes to see him sucking her juices off his bottom lip, and it makes the hungry ache worse. She whines, hips bucking, and it must not be the reaction he expected, because his eyebrows furrow.

“Stiles?”

She tosses her head, still squirming, overheated and needy in a way she should probably hate, but the only thing she can think about right now is getting him back between her thighs.

The bed dips as he climbs onto it, laying next to her so his body is a long line of heat against her side. He touches her neck, fingertips pressed to the soft skin of her throat, and she startles a little when he mutters, “Shit.”

“What?” Stiles blinks, trying to unstick her eyelids—why do they feel so heavy?—to peer up at him.

Peter’s face is lined with worry. “You’re having a pseudo-heat, darling.” At that, her eyes widen as panic sparks through her, but he’s making shushing noises before she opens her mouth. “It’s not a full one, you would have felt that come on, and you’re still on suppressants. There’s no signs of those having failed, just,” he trails off, staring at her intently.

Stiles doesn’t know what any of this means. If she could think about it clearly, she probably would, she’s smart like that, but right now, the only thing that matters—the only thing she knows for sure—is, “Need you,” she whimpers, reaching for his shoulders and trying to drag him forward. She feels like she’s got all the strength and coordination of a newborn kitten, but apparently, that’s all she needs, since he lets her pull him in. The kiss is short, and tangy with the taste of her, but she doesn’t get long to enjoy it before Master Peter’s pulling away to—oh.

She did not realize this is how he looks under his shirts. _Hot damn_. How did she miss this?

He chuckles, and she . . . may have said that out loud. But she decides she doesn’t care, because she gets to put her hands all over the broad expanse of his chest, and the subtly-defined abs, and she even puts her teeth in those ridiculous shoulders, which makes him moan a little against her skin and that, that is nice, Stiles likes that.

Before she can move to another bit of shoulder—and gods, but she has so much glorious real estate to choose from?—he slides out of reach, and Stiles whines, nails scraping up his back as he slithers down her body to—oh, his mouth is back between her thighs, that’s alright then.

And then it’s more than just alright, because he slips two thick fingers inside her cunt, curling them to rub and press against her g-spot as he tugs at her clit piercing with his teeth. She chokes out some indescribable sound, fingers tangling in his hair as she presses his face down while canting her hips up, not so much begging as _demanding_ more, because she’s never needed it-him-to-come this badly in her life, and he can give her all the detention he wants later as long as he slurps and fingerfucks her to orgasm _now_.

Stiles thanks every deity she’s never believed in that he does exactly that, and she comes a second time with her hips arching into his mouth. It’s better this time, because she’s not empty, has his fingers pressing against her g-spot and his other hand splayed across her chest, holding her down against the bed. It’s better, but it’s still not quite enough.

She whimpers, and he shushes her. “Easy, princess. Easy. I’ll give you what you need—didn’t I tell you I’d take care of you?”

And she nods because yes, he did say that. It’s why she doesn’t protest when he undoes her sash, letting her uniform slither off, or when he turns her over onto her hands and knees. She’s unsteady, but the hand his smooths up her spine is steadying, somehow.

The tip of his cock, dragging hot and velvety over her slick folds, however, makes her tremble. Something about it is trying to catch her attention, but his thumbs spread her wide, and then he’s murmuring, “Alright, princess, here we go,” as he starts to push in-in-in, and he’s thick and blood-hot and _big_ as he fills her up, and it’s good, it’s so good, but she feels stuffed full and she needs a moment that she doesn’t get, because his hips are rolling against her ass as he thrusts smoothly but not gently or slowly, and it’s too much, she’d like to slow down, but she’s also rocking back into it because she’s greedy and this, somehow, isn’t _enough_.

His hands wrap around her waist as his thrusts speed up. “I’ll give you what you need, princess, you just need to be a little patient.”

She gives a broken snarl and shoves her ass back into the cradle of his hips with a slap, because she is the furthest possible thing from patient right now, and she’s not willing to wait much longer for whatever it is she needs—because she may not know what it is, but Peter seems to have an idea, and he has _no right_ to be withholding it from her.

He swears, and then stops moving, leaning over her and pushing her down with his weight until she’s pressed against the mattress and he’s reaching out for something on the low table by the bed. As his weight comes off her, he reaches between them and slides a slick fingertip in alongside his cock. Stiles groans at the stretch, but it feels good, and she realizes that this, this feeling, this almost-too-full sensation is what she’s chasing, and it hits her like a ton of bricks that what she wants is a _knot_.

But not just any knot—she wants _Peter’s_ knot.

It should scare her senseless, because every time she’s ever considered taking an actual knot, she practically feels her insides shrivel up in the most visceral “no” she could ever imagine. Instead, she’s flushed all over, slick and open and greedy for it like she never thought she would be. “Please,” she half-sobs, because she’s more than a little overwhelmed and she needs him to keep his promise.

“It’s okay, little o, I’ve got you. I’m going to pull out,” she whines, high and sharp because no, she does not want him to do that, but he keeps going, “and sit against the headboard. Once I’ve done that, you can settle in my lap, and I’ll knot you like you want, alright, princess?”

“Yeah,” she moans, because that is a plan she can actually get behind. Despite agreeing, though, she still has to bite back a whine when he actually does pull out, because the aching emptiness he leaves behind is almost enough to make her cry.

But she can be good, so she takes a deep breath and gets up slowly, watches him settle in place with pillows behind him and his shoulders braced against the wall, his hand with the chain around it lying next to her on the bed. She waits until he stretches that hand out for her and says, “Okay, little o, you can come take my knot, now.”

She scrambles towards him, and lets him guide her into place so that she’s straddling his torso, her hands braced on his shoulders and the chain of their leash cool where it brushes her skin as she sinks back down on his cock with a wavering moan. “That’s it,” he husks. “Now, lean forward for me, that’s it.”

She does, and then his arms are wrapping around her tightly, pressing her against his chest as he snaps his hips up hard enough to make her squeal. She tries to squirm, but she can’t go anywhere, doesn’t have the leverage, so all she can do is make little mewling noises as his cock punches into her again and again until his knot starts to catch, when he moves his hands to her hips, pushing her down onto it and holding her in place as it expands, and they tie.

She’s shocky after, trembling a little, less desperate now but still needing to come, so she leans back slowly until she’s braced against his bent knees. It means she can see his face, see the flushed relaxation and the way his eyes glitter beneath his slitted lids, and she doesn’t know why the sight of him looking at her like this makes her clench around him, but it _does_.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps, hands sliding up her thighs. She shivers, one hand creeping closer to where they’re joined. “C’mon, little o,” he stares as she slides a finger into place on either side of her clit, “come for me.”

Stiles’s breath hitches as she presses in little pulses, her legs twitching on either side of Peter’s waist.

“Clench around me and milk my knot.”

It’s so shockingly filthy that her eyes pop open, and she sees him staring at her with naked hunger on his face, like he hasn’t already come, isn’t already knotted up inside her cunt and pumping her full, that it only takes another moment of perfect pressure from her fingers before she’s coming breathlessly, her pelvic muscles fluttering frantically around him as he groans, her back arching, leaning her weight more fully against his knees as she rides out the pleasure ricocheting through her body.

When it’s finally over, she slumps against his chest, panting. One of his hands rests in the small of her back, and the other strokes over her hair. “What happened?” she croaks, her voice wrecked from panting and moaning.

“I’m not completely sure.”

It bothers her, a little. She’s not entire sure why until she realizes what had been nagging at her. “You knotted me without a condom.”

“I did,” he agrees, and she doesn’t know what to think that he admitted it so easily. “Do you know why?”

Stiles shakes her head.

Peter presses his lips to her forehead. “You were having a pseudo-heat, darling. And those can be dangerous, can escalate into a full-blown heat if they aren’t ended quickly. And the quickest way to end one is—”

“Knotting without a condom,” she murmurs. She remembers this, now, from high school health class and the drug sheet for her suppressants. And yeah, okay, that explains why he went without one, but—“Why did I have a pseudo-heat?” If she sounds like she’s scared, it’s because she is. She doesn’t know what to think.

“I don’t know, princess.” He sighs, and wraps his arms around her again. “But we’ll sort that bit out later. For right now, my knot won’t go down for at least another fifteen, twenty minutes, so we should rest. Enjoy the closeness while it lasts.”

Stiles hums, and lets him stroke his fingers up her sides, down her spine, along the silk ribbon at her neck as she lies pliant, her mind whirling.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me in [my dumpster](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/).


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